Always A Bit Of You There
by sweetondean
Summary: Post Dean's demon days and he's cleaning the Impala. Followed by a slightly schmaltzy Sam and Dean moment in the bunker.


Dean felt like he'd been cleaning the Impala for days.

He polished every inch of her black duco, until he could see the freckles on his own reflection in the paint. He shined every piece of chrome until the glare blinded him to look at it. He got a tiny brush and scrubbed every crevice of the dash, getting every crumb, every speck of dust. He vacuumed the floors and changed out the mats. He shone the windows so clean you could barely see they were even there. He wiped down the upholstery, lovingly rubbing leather conditioner into every fold. He blacked her tyres and made her hubcaps sparkle. He tightened every nut, every bolt in the engine, wiping off every drop of stray oil until her insides shined as much as her outside.

He worked from sun up to sun down, until every part of him ached or sweated or both. And she looked beautiful…except for that one mark on the backseat. No matter what he did, he could not get that mark to shift. It wasn't a big mark, it was just a smear really, something brownish on the leather. Most people wouldn't notice it. But Dean did.

* * *

Dean gave the mark one more good scrub, before shaking his head, "I'll have to get something from the auto shop in the morning, and give it another go" he thought.

Sighing, he packed up all his cleaning gear, rinsed his sponges and chamois and headed back to the bunker to shower.

* * *

Flopping down on the couch, in what was now designated as the television room, Dean rubbed a towel over his wet hair and then tossed the towel across the room just as Sam walked through the door with a couple of beers.

"Dude!" Sam said, picking up the towel and hanging it on the corner of a bookcase.

"I was gonna get it later." Dean said petulantly, as he grabbed a beer from his brother and stretched his legs out. "Man, I ached from top to toe."

"You were working on her all day. Trying to make amends?" Sam looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Dean huffed, "Something like that."

"She must be looking pretty spectacular." Sam said.

"Oh yeah" said Dean, "She's got shine on her shine…so keep ya mitts off her! I don't need you leaving no sticky fingerprints all over her paint!"

"Sticky…? De… I'm not 5 years old!" Sam shook his head.

"Whatever. "Just don't mess her up."

Sam let out an exasperated noise, as he put his feet up on the coffee table and grabbed his book.

"You know," Dean said, "There was one mark on the back seat I couldn't get off. No matter how much I scrubbed it. I'll need to get her some kinda leather cleaner or somethin'. And I'm blaming you for whatever that mark is, because I sure ain't responsible for it!"

Sam was silent.

Dean kicked his brother's foot.

"What? What did you do in the back of my car Sammy? Spill it."

Sam marked his page and laid his book on the table. He looked up at Dean.

"Actually Dean, you did make that mark."

"What? No way. I did not. When d'ya think I did that?"

"I know when you did it, and yeah, you're right, you're not responsible, it was…" Sam stumbled.

"It wasssss? Enlighten me Sam!"

"It was…it was when I brought you back to the bunker after…after Metatron killed you."

Dean inhaled sharply and stared at his brother.

Sam was picking at his sleeve.

"I wrapped you in my shirt, but it didn't quite cover you and I guess…I guess some of your blood got on the seat. I thought I'd wiped it off…but I, I don't know…you were there and I wanted to get you inside and I probably thought I could clean it up later…though, I don't know…..maybe I would've just left it..."

"What?" Dean asked.

"I wasn't thinking straight, Dean. You were dead. I had to get you into the bunker. I'm sure I would've cleaned it up properly the next day or something… That's if you hadn't taken the car!"

Dean grunted, and shifted awkwardly in his chair.

"But, then again" Sam whispered, "Maybe I _would've_ just left it..." He trailed off.

Dean turned to look at Sam.

"I, err... you would've left my blood on the backseat? Why Sammy?" Dean asked quietly.

"I dunno" Sam said in a small voice, "Maybe because….then there'd always be a bit of you there…still riding in the car with me."

Dean bit his lip and looked down at his hands. He didn't know what to say.

* * *

For a few moments, the brothers were silent. Then Sam suddenly straightened up and cleared his throat. "I dunno, like I said Dean, you were dead, I wasn't thinking straight. It was stupid. Gross probably. Forget about it. Tomorrow we'll get stuff to clean it off." Sam reached for the TV remote. "Wanna watch something?" He flicked on the television, not waiting for his brother to answer.

"Yeah…sure" Dean said quietly, glancing at Sam. But his brother's gazed was fixed firmly on the screen.

* * *

Sam grabbed the car keys from the hook in the kitchen that he'd put up so Dean would stop leaving his keys in random jeans and jacket pockets.

Dean looked up from his laptop, cereal spoon paused mid-air.

"Morning. Where you going with my car?"

"We need a few things… and…I thought I'd got to that auto shop in town and get something to clean up that stain."

Dean nodded. "Um, yeah, don't worry about that."

"Don't worry? Why? You got some other idea?"

"Nah…Um. I was just, thinking…it don't matter. We can just leave it. No one will notice."

"Dean, I know that stain is gonna drive you crazy eventually. Seriously, there'll be something that'll shift it."

"I said don't worry about it Sam."

Sam frowned at his brother, "Why?"

"Because…because what you said…last night."

"What I said?

"About, you know…a bit of me always being there, ridin' in the car with you. I dunno. It just… I figure… just in case…" Dean dropped his spoon into his cereal bowl with a big clangy splash, "Can we stop talking about this now? Just…we need milk."

Sam looked at his big brother in astonishment and chuffed to himself. Dean never ceased to surprise him. "Okay, sure thing Dean. I'll be back in a few."

Dean picked up his spoon again and shovelled some Cheerios into his mouth. "And don't go leaving no sticky fingerprints all over her paint", he sprayed loudly.

Sam shook his head and yelled back, "I'm not five years old, Dean!"

They both smiled hoping the other wouldn't notice.


End file.
